Philosophers and Conquerors
by Dentelle-noir
Summary: AU. 3x4. Stripping wasn't exactly a 'safe' job by any stretch of the imagination, but Trowa kept himself safe and stuck to the rules. Until a blonde CEO decided to push his boundaries. Adult concepts and language. NC-17.
1. Chapter 1

**Philosophers and Conquerors**

By: _Dentelle_noir_

Written as a bribe for Chapter 19 of Candlelight. Since it's been posted, I will post my chapter one for her! Here you go Osco!

**Summary:** Image is everything, the rich and poor live in different worlds, and what you do determines who you are. At least, some people think that is true. 3x4. Rated: NC-17 for very mature subject matter and language.  
Chapter 1 of 3

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**Chapter 1**

Trowa didn't believe in Happily Ever After, or any of that 'Pretty Woman' type crap that a lot of the other dancers did. Most of them clamoured to dance at these sorts of parties, in hopes of catching the eye of some rich CEO and making him a third wife or something, thinking that they could find their prince charming. Trowa knew that was bullshit. None of the CEOs around the room did more than let their eyes roam over the girls dancing for them, and those strippers who let one of the men take them home were much more likely to get killed then get so much as a second date. Needless to say, Trowa did not want to go to this type of party. But he was part of the package. Trowa worked for one of the higher-end gentleman's clubs in the Miami district, and because he could be a bouncer, a bartender, or a dancer depending on what was needed, he was almost always asked to go. 

He ditched the first few times he was asked to work at this sort of thing but his "manager" (Pimp. Trowa was a big fan of calling a spade a spade) had figured out pretty quickly that he would only go if his sister, Cathy, was scheduled to dance too. And so, since he refused to leave her alone with these CEO cock-sucking sharks, Trowa found himself walking up to the pole and posing. He was the only male dancing tonight. 

Tonight's venue was some rich guy's 'smoking room' which was a fancy name for a large den with lots of alcohol, snobbery, and a dark heavy lighting. There didn't seem to be much smoking going on, which annoyed Trowa on principle. There was a little raised stage set up near the middle of the room, and all around the stage were couches and stools and people in business suits chatting with each other, chewing on cigars, watching the dancers or getting lap dances. They were all generally enjoying their wealth as under-aged and nearly-under aged girls fell all over themselves to get a glance from one of them. No one was really listening, and no one was really paying attention. 

His own little rebellion came over the speakers and he began to move. The song was dark, and angry... And Trowa began ringing the pole and sliding down it with his back. He didn't look anything like the other girls. He wore heavy black boots and tight black jeans. He had a studded belt and earrings all the way down the outer shell of his ear. His shirt was a simple short-sleeved black cotton V-neck, and he finished off the look with two black leather cuffs on his wrists. Tasteful, but dark; that's how he always dressed. He also looked different because, unlike the dancers, he had come to the party thinking he was bartending, and he had to go to work after this too. But he could dance in anything. It wasn't like anyone cared; And it was proven clearly. His music was Marilyn Manson's "The Beautiful People" and as he danced-- twirling around the pole, dipping low and sliding back up it with the grace of a panther and the passion of a lover—no one noticed that his music made fun of his hosts with each note. 

Except perhaps one person. Trowa noticed him right away. His eyes were trained on the stage and he had a twenty dollar martini sitting on his Armani-clad lap. He fit in with the sharks around them, but he was younger than most of the others. He had blonde hair and blue eyes and full, sexy lips that were mouthing the words of his song with a little sort of smirk that made him look quite sexy. 

Trowa found himself smirking back. It was sort of like a private joke, and, well, it was something interesting at least. He was the only person really looking at Trowa's performance, so, Trowa turned the heat up a bit and gave him a bit more of a show, sliding his shirt up higher as he rolled and slithered low on the stage, using the poll to lean against so he could go all the way down to his knees. He probably should have been getting naked, but what was the point when no one was watching? He certainly wasn't body shy- he DID take his clothes off for tips pretty regularly- but he hadn't worn easily removable clothes, and he didn't want to have to fix his hair before he left to go to work. 

This was a private party, and they didn't have the same rules here. Trowa did not take his shirt off, just moved back to the poll and ground against it again, grabbing onto it and bending back, and back, and back showing off his flexibility. He saw the blonde watching, and Trowa gave him a saucy sort of wink before snapping upright and launching up the pole and holding it with his thighs so he could slide down nice and slow and let the little blonde shark lick his lips. Too bad for him, though, the music ended and Trowa walked off the stage, having never taken off a stitch of clothing. And the man hadn't taken his eyes off his ass the whole time, either. 

He didn't mind his eyes too much, and for a good enough price, Trowa wouldn't have minded a bit more from the guy, either.

As long as he paid.

Trowa couldn't stand rich Bastards who thought that they should get everything handed to them because they had cash. What was fair for the goose was fair for the gander, as far as he was concerned, and if Trowa was $100 bucks an hour on his back for Jo-Blow off the street, he was $100 for someone in Armani. Unlike the other dancers, he didn't jack up his price. 

He checked his watch and saw it was nearly ten. The other bouncer had shown up a few minutes earlier and was watching out for the girls. Trowa grabbed his bag and moved out the back, through the hallways and towards his car. He pulled a smoke out of his bag and took a moment to light it when he passed through the dining room. That outta piss off the owner a little. Smoking room his ass. 

He was glad to be getting out of there, though, wanting to be gone as fast as possible. But, his car was a piece of crap and the stubborn lock decided to give him trouble. He finished his first smoke and took out another and then tried the lock a few more times with the right sort of flick of the wrist... AH! Got it. It opened up and Trowa stood just outside the open door. He tossed his bag into the passenger seat while he dug for his lighter in his pocket. 

"Your dance was exceptional."

Trowa turned around so fast he nearly caused himself whiplash. There, a few feet behind him, was the blonde CEO from the party. What? Was he following him now, because Trowa gave him a little extra sugar in his dance?

FUCK!

Trowa leaned into his car with a casual stance and began to pat around for his bag. He found it with his fingers, and slowly, with a fluid motion, slipped his hand inside and palmed the little can of mace he kept with him at all times. He was probably being paranoid. The guy was tiny. And probably horny. But he was taking a few more steps closer, making Trowa feel a little trapped.

But he stayed cool and put his smoke to his lips, keeping his stance casual, and making sure that his finger was on the mace trigger correctly if it came to that.

The blonde stepped forward again so that he was within arm's reach of Trowa. "Need a light?" he asked with a little smirk. He probably thought that Trowa was playing coy, but he really wasn't. He was trying to gauge what the guy wanted and whether or not punching him in the face would be a suitable reaction to being cornered at his car. The blonde had a pretty little platinum Zippo in his pocket probably worth a whole week's pay for most people, and he flicked it open and held it out for Trowa.

Trowa had to remind himself that paranoia was not sexy. The guy was just trying to be slick. He didn't really see the harm in it, so Trowa leaned in and sucked on his smoke to get it to light. He leaned back and held the smoke with his one free hand, hoping it would settle him a little. 

The blonde licked his lips again, unconsciously, and seemed to look Trowa over a little without saying much. Trowa hadn't bothered to really fix himself up after his dance, and his shirt was still tugged up a bit and showing skin. The blonde really seemed to like watching Trowa have his smoke, though, and it was starting to creep him out. At least he wasn't being a bully, or asking Trowa for a freebie. That didn't mean Trowa was going to give him an opening. He had to go to work, and while he wouldn't mind terribly to sell Blondie an hour, that didn't mean he had an hour TO sell right about now. And Blondie looked like he was about to invite him for dinner or something and then expect Trowa to put out. Sorry, bucko, things didn't work like that in Trowa's world, and the more he looked at him with those big blue eyes the more Trowa was getting antsy to leave. 

The blonde smiled a little tightly, leaning back a bit as if he could tell that Trowa was feeling kinda cornered. "I just saw you walking this way, and I thought I'd tell you that I enjoyed your music choice. Evocative. And fitting for that snake-pit. I rather liked it."

How poetic. Kinda deep. Something a philosopher would say. Trowa had to admit he kinda liked that. He supposed he could stay a minute more... Just to finish his smoke.

He gave the philosopher-blonde a bit of a flirting smile and took another drag. "Yeah? You sound like a philosopher."

"My name is Quatre, by the way." Oh? No last name, either? That was refreshing. In a snake-pit of CEOs, usually it was all about the last name, or the company.

Trowa supposed giving the guy his name wouldn't be too much. "I'm Trowa."

The blonde smiled warmly, but didn't move forward or anything. That was good. "I liked the dance, too. You didn't move like the other strippers. And you certainly don't dress like one. You're exceptionally graceful. It was refreshing." 

Trowa shrugged and toyed with his cigarette a little. He didn't too much mind attentions from the philosopher now. "I dressed for tonight thinking that I'd be a Bouncer. But, I have a degree in Modern Dance so I strip from time to time if it's needed. But no, I don't usually look like the other dancers." 

Quatre looked surprised to hear that. Score one point for Trowa. He smirked a little and waited to see what the pretty little philosopher had to say now. Trowa was enjoying this little verbal spar. 

The blonde thought for a moment, then leaned back against the car sitting next to Trowa's and smiled a salesman's smirk, "I'm going to New York this weekend. I was looking for some company. Maybe you'd be interested? I could take you to see a show. And I'd bring you shopping after. Buy you something nice..."

Not a philosopher. Not at all. Just another sleazy guy wanting a free fuck and throwing around his money to get it. 

Trowa glared, "I work this weekend." Just a little snarky? Check. He sorta hoped the guy took the hint and left him alone now. He wasn't interested in some CEO thinking he ruled the world like some King. He could pay like everyone else or leave him the hell alone. Trowa didn't do freebies, and he didn't like people making absurd promises to him.

"You'd rather work as a Bouncer than go to New York with me?" Quatre looked struck by that thought. He probably thought that he had "dancers" all figured out. But Trowa had said it before, and he would say it again. He wasn't like the other dancers. A real philosopher would have picked up on that.

"Bartender." Trowa corrected, taking another deep drag of his smoke to finish it quicker. "I work as a Bartender on the weekends for the club."

The CEO tried to think of a way to get back into Trowa's good graces. Apparently offering to take him shopping only pissed him off. Trowa had stopped slowly enjoying his cigarette and was now getting ready to leave. Quatre couldn't read him anymore. The dancer had been clearly flirting with him earlier! And he had been smiling and teasing... Maybe that was the way to go with the dancer? Quatre had only a few seconds to turn this around, so, he tried what he could.

"A Bartender, a Bouncer, and a Dancer? Now all you need to do is juggle and you'll be a perfect all-around performer." Quatre teased with a smile, trying to get the dancer talking again.

Wrong move. Fear and paranoia spiked through the dancer's spine, and suddenly their flirting game wasn't fun anymore.

Trowa brought his arm up and there was a can of mace right between Quatre's eyes, "Alright, back the FUCK up, asshole! This conversation is OVER." 

Quatre took a step back immediately, putting his hands up in surrender, confusion written across his face. "What the hell..."

Trowa gestured for Quatre to back up a bit more, so he did, walking all the way to the back of Trowa's car. Trowa hopped in and turned the key, and then he was GONE, leaving Quatre standing in the empty parking lot, thunderstruck.

What had he done so wrong?

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AN: Thank you Osco for chapter 19 of Candelight! I'll have chapter 2 for you soon! I'm still tweaking it... I'm just not happy with how it came out. We'll see how I feel about it soon. *HUGS*

Thank you also to Writtenidealist for her beta work and editing on this and the next chapters. She really helped polish this fic. And to **f0r3v3ryw0rd** for doing an interactive read-through of the fic and helping me work out what I didn't like about the second chapter! Thanks so much both of you!

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**Please leave a Review! Even if it's just to say 'I was here'! I love reviews!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Philosophers and Conquerors**

By: _Dentelle_noir_

**Summary:** Stripping wasn't exactly a 'safe' job by any stretch of the imagination, but Trowa kept himself safe and stuck to the rules. Until a blonde CEO decided to push his boundaries. 3x4. Rated: NC-17 for very mature subject matter and language.

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A/N: Written as a bribe for Chapter 19 of Candlelight. Since it's been posted on , I will post my chapter one for her! Here you go Osco!

Thank you also to **writtenidealist** for her beta work and editing on this and the next chapters. She really helped polish this fic. And to **f0r3v3ryw0rd** for doing an interactive read-through of the fic and helping me work out what I didn't like about the second chapter! Thanks so much both of you!

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**Chapter Two**

Angry and frustrated and horny as hell, Quatre walked back to the party and found a couch near the back and got ready to drink his hunger away. The dancer had just left, leaving Quatre gaping and wondering what he had said to make him turn from flirting and smiling to pulling out the mace and driving off so fast that he'd left rubber burns on the pavement!

He found himself another strong martini and tipped it back easily. He supposed drinking away his emotions would work well enough tonight. He might even pull out his little black book of the elite agencies around town and have someone come over tonight to relieve him a little.

To be honest, he would rather pay for sex than deal with gold-diggers and media-whores. He was sick and tired of all the fake smiles and underhanded cash-grabs. He liked things clear cut and easy to work with. He liked Trowa's style, his attitude, his intelligence and sharp wit, and Quatre's libido had sure liked his looks. And, damn it, he liked how Trowa's every move made Quatre's body wake up from hibernation and hum for attention.

He would have liked to know what in God's name he said to make the man physically flee from him as if he were some crazed axe murderer! He just invited him to a weekend getaway! Quatre went on these things all the time, and most evenings he spent alone. He would have liked to have someone to go to dinner with, or someone to comment on the shows. Or hell, it would have been nice even just to have someone waiting for him to walk through the door! Trowa was intelligent, and quick-witted, and educated as well as being gorgeous, sexy, and brutally honest. Quatre thought that he would have been good company. Any other dancer would have taken him up on that offer in a heartbeat (as he knew from experience) but Trowa? Trowa had gone frigid and lost all sense of humour. One little joke and suddenly Quatre was having the mace pulled on him as if he was some psycho criminal?

The rejection had been a real hit to his ego. Quatre had never really thought that he was the perfect man. He was no Prince Charming, but he was generally good looking wasn't he? And he had some conversational ability! At least he thought he did. He had always been told that he was handsome and charming, but, perhaps that was just fake too?

Quatre found himself walking up to the little mini-bar set up inside the smoking room and contemplated another martini. He was going pretty strong on them, but, he supposed that his reputation could withstand one night of over indulgence.

There was a pretty girl behind the bar with curly, bouncing red hair, spangled earrings, and a tight brown tube dress that barely covered anything. She was leaning against the counter with a phone to her ear and a frustrated look on her face, "No. Calm down! You're being paranoid again little brother," she was saying into the phone. "No crazy blonde guy is trying to hit on me and disguise my murder with a fake trip."

Quatre's face paled a little, his attention focusing on the telephone and whom he suspected was on the other end.

The girl kept talking, "Seriously. You're reading too much into this. He was just coasting for a free fuck. They always do! All the CEO's are like that, and you know it. They didn't get rich by actually paying people for their services, now did they?"

Trowa, whom Quatre suspected was on the other line, said something that made the girl roll her eyes. She spotted Quatre and flashed him a disarming smirk that looked exactly like Trowa's. The relation was pretty clear now that he was looking. She flashed him a 'one minute' finger and hummed into the phone, "It was just a joke. He's not stalking you, baby brother. Cool off. Look, I have to go, I got a customer waiting. ... yeah you too, Tro. See ya in a few hours." Then she hung up.

With a little sway of her hips that reminded Quatre of Trowa's swagger (and made him want the male dancer so much more) she walked up to him and smiled, "What can I get you, sweetheart?"

Quatre licked his lips and tried to paint on a harmless smile. "How about a Martini?" he asked, taking a stool at the bar to signal he was willing to wait, "And an explanation, perhaps?"

She had been smiling when he sat, but now she frowned tightly. Her eyes flicked over him and suddenly she wasn't playing anymore. She had put two and two together and wasn't liking the result. Quatre had the sinking feeling that she kept a little can of mace on her too, and he was about to meet the business end of it if he didn't play his cards right.

But if Quatre was anything, it was smart. And very good at thinking on his feet.

He sighed wearily, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude on your call or anything. I really didn't. But I heard you talking and I assume it was Trowa." Quatre tried to look as innocent as he could, "Whatever I did to offend him, could you maybe tell him that I'm sorry?" His kicked-puppy face usually got him pretty far with ladies, but if she shared genes with the bi-polar dancer, her reaction might be suprising.

Thankfully this time the puppy-eyes worked as they usually did.

She poured the martini and handed it to him. She was still looking wary, but she wasn't edgy like Trowa had been. She was clearly waiting for him to talk and wasn't about to give up the higher ground voluntarily. She knew that she had information that Quatre wanted, and she wasn't about to just blurt it out. Smart girl.

Quatre tipped her a twenty for the martini and tried to look casual. "I don't know what I did to offend him so much. He was flirting with me one second and the next he was pulling out the pepper spray and making me back up to the curb like I had just threatened his life! I wasn't trying anything."

The girl was looking Quatre over, sizing him up as she slipped the twenty into the top of her tube dress and down to sit securely in her bra (it was purple. Quatre could tell because the tips of it were showing over the top of her ridiculously low dress). She wasn't quite talking yet.

Quatre slipped another twenty her way, "What did I say to offend him so much?"

That twenty followed its predecessor down into her bra, and only then did she start to talk, "...Trowa's my brother. He and I work at a circus seasonally. Your joke? Wasn't a joke to him. He's actually one of our star jugglers. He thinks you're stalking him or something now."

Quatre gave her an incredulous look. "I'm not stalking him! I just invited him for a little getaway!"

She glared back at him, "Look around you, Rich-bitch. Does it look to you like people working here are particularly SAFE? Whenever there's an unexplained killing, who's dead? A stripper or a hooker. When people just disappear, who is it? A stripper or a hooker. Trowa always seems to attract the crazies. And I mean the 'following you around and taking the bubble gum you throw away to make an effigy, then try to slip things into your drink and kidnap you' sort of crazies. And do you think the cops ever try to help him out? He and I get tossed in jail just walking down the street around here. Do you really think any one of us is really going to trust some rich guy promising the world? Give me a fucking break."

She moved back behind the bar to cash out another customer, and flipped Quatre a look over his shoulder, "My brother doesn't do freebies. And he certainly doesn't do them on the promise of some trip. And really, if you weren't so tiny, I'd think that you had more sinister things in mind than just angling for a free fuck throwing around offers like that. If you want him, you can pay just like everybody else."

He didn't like what he was hearing. She was too pretty to be saying such harsh things. If he wasn't into guys, he might have taken a liking to her himself. She was truthful, brutal, and devastatingly beautiful. Just like her brother.

Quatre wanted Trowa in his bed –and his life—pretty badly. He was even more determined to win over Trowa now. He could conquer his heart. He was Quatre Winner for God's sakes. He could conquer anything. "What if I want to be more than a client?" Quatre asked with a haughty sort of glint to his eyes. He wasn't a man who took rejection well.

The girl shook her head, "You never stood a chance for anything else, darling. To Trowa, you're either family, or you're a client. He's pretty jaded that way. He doesn't believe in happily ever afters or any of that stuff. He's seen too much of the bad side of life. He doesn't date. And I doubt he appreciated you trying to sweep him off his feet."

Quatre though, was already starting to hatch a plan. If what the sister was saying was true, then he still had a chance to get the bi-polar dancer in his bed. And maybe more if he played his cards right.

He knew what he'd done now. He had crossed a line with his invitation to New York. Trowa seemed to be a man all about lines. He had many faces and personas and it was becoming quite clear to Quatre that he did not like any of them to be fucked with. He was a performer to the core. Quatre had tried to remove his mask, threatened to break the proverbial fourth wall and move out of the audience and into his life, and Trowa reacted violently. No wonder he had been denied so brutally! Although, that was no excuse to try and mace him!

But Quatre had not yet begun to fight. He had tricks up his sleeves yet, and now he knew what he was getting into. A battle plan began to form in his head, and he felt much more prepared than before to storm the fortress that was Trowa.

He showed the girl a crisp one hundred dollar bill and then sweetly asked her for the name of the strip club they worked at. After a moment, she took it, and gave him the business card.

He knew what he wanted now, and he wasn't about to let anything stand in his way.

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The bar was pumping, and Trowa was having a good time passing out drinks. The girls were dancing tonight and caught most of the attention from the rowdy group. But Trowa didn't mind the few pairs of eyes that wandered his way, especially when he bent over to get the ice or reached high to grab a wine glass and flashed his abs. He liked working there. The atmosphere was hungry, but the place was classy. The girls were generally fun to be around and they liked to tease and flirt and have a good time- just like Trowa himself did. Around normal people, hard-working everyday sorts, Trowa wasn't quite as prickly as he was with rich-bitch types. He liked to talk to some of the patrons, would pour them drinks and let them pour out their souls while he raked in the tips. All he had to do to keep the job was give a few private dances here and there and step in to help the other bouncers if things got too rowdy. The boss was good to him and didn't cause a fuss when Trowa left for a few months every year to do the circus. It was a good job.

And a job that he knew was threatened as soon as the stalking philosopher-king stepped through the doors with a fake smile on his face and Armani on his ass. A guy like him would get preferential treatment and members-only access with nothing more than a smile if Trowa didn't cut him off right away.

"Security!" Trowa hissed, waving over all three of the guys working tonight. He wasn't "panicking" so much as... "extremely agitated". They picked up on his distress in seconds and were over there with frowns on their faces and muscles bulging from their tight T-shirts. Trowa just pointed to the blonde and off they went.

Quatre was surrounded by three huge goons within seconds of walking in the door. He saw, just for a second, a peek of Trowa behind the bar before he was blocked by the bouncers. "You need to leave, sir." One of the men said.

"I'm harmless. I just want to talk to him." He tried to reason with them. Charm usually got him all sorts of places, without ever having to throw around his title or money.

"You need to leave now, sir," the guy repeated again, not giving an inch. Quatre was cornered and surrounded, and his only way to move was a step backwards. But he was too damn stubborn to let some muscle-heads get in the way of his conquest. Charm wasn't working, so he continued through his battle strategies. No one stopped him from getting what he wanted. And at the party he had decided: He wanted Trowa.

It was time to play hardball.

Quatre painted on his best shark-smile and put his hands up to show he was harmless (flashing his Rolex while he was at it). He went into his front pocket and retrieved his business card. "Could I speak to the manager, please?"

The bouncers glared, and one spoke up again, "You need to leave, sir. Or we'll make you leave."

"I really think you should talk to your manager before you do that." Quatre cooed. He knew how to throw his weight around if he had to. "I'm of no harm. I'll stand right here while someone goes to get him." And he handed the one bouncer who seemed to be in charge his business card, "Just give that to your manager? See, I'm the CEO of Winner Corp, which owns a company that owns a company that basically owns the company that, well... Owns you."

The bouncers sort of flicked their eyes at each other, gauging the others' reaction. One of them flicked his eyes towards the bar. Trowa was working there, obviously unable (or too stubborn) to duck out. He glared at the bouncer and served another drink. Quatre could see the fury racing up the back of the bartender's spine and flooding his face red. Oh, he was PISSED that Quatre was getting preferential treatment. And he looked absolutely gorgeous all riled up and angry like that.

Quatre took that as his own little victory. Score one for Quatre.

While Quatre understood the dancer's motives now, that didn't change the facts: The dancer had thrown a bitch-fit and threatened to mace him. Quatre wasn't about to let him off easy for it.

The bouncer in charge sent one of the others to get the manager and moved to cut off Quatre's view of Trowa (as if he knew exactly where Quatre was looking). Damn. The dancer had just been about to reach for something and Quatre had only wanted a little peek! And as mad as he knew the performer was, he thought he knew how Trowa worked; he figured that the dancer would appreciate Quatre's eyes on him. Not being able to do a little flirting was setting his plan back. But, not enough to make him change course.

A few minutes later the bouncer came back with a man beside him. He carried himself like he owned the place and wore too-bright of a shirt under his slick leather blazer. It wasn't too bad of a look, really. Classy-- for a pimp. Quatre could tell right away who this man was. He had a snake-charmer's smile, quick hands, and a glint in his eyes that told Quatre that he wasn't a man to be fucked with; Perfect sort of guy to run a strip-bar.

He smiled at Quatre and took a second to look at the business card as if he wasn't terribly impressed. Cocky. Quatre kinda liked that in him. He let the pimp make the first move.

"So, what brings you to our establishment tonight, Mister Winner?" he asked with a lifted brow.

Putting on his charming smile again, Quatre started "I was at a private party tonight, watching your dancers." He saw the pimp's eyes widen a bit in recognition. "And I met your dancer there." Quatre pointed to Trowa, who looked LIVID as he stood behind the bar and watched his boss chatting Quatre up instead of kicking his ass out.

The pimp flicked his eyes to the angry-looking Trowa, and then to the Armani and Rolex on Quatre. He considered things a moment, and then nodded his head towards Trowa as he kept his eyes on Quatre (And the money in his wallet) "...He's an expensive one, you know."

That seemed to be the last straw for Trowa. Quatre hadn't anticipated the manager whoring the irate dancer off so quickly.

Before Quatre could warn the man, Trowa vaulted the bar in an impressive show of strength. He came stomping over to the group of them with fire in his eyes. "NO! Get him OUT of here! He's stalking my ass! I don't want anything to do with him!"

The pimp looked angrily at Trowa. No doubt, he was thinking about his cut of whatever Trowa would make off of Quatre. The plan wasn't going too well, and Trowa was just getting angrier. The manager grabbed the dancer around the waist tightly and whispered into Trowa's ear.

Whatever he said only pissed Trowa off more and he tossed the man off him, "I will NOT settle down! I want him GONE! I won't so much as TOUCH that asshole!"

Trowa's eyes turned to Quatre. He was so angry that he was seeing red and every muscle in the dancer's gorgeous body was corded and ready to strike. It was breathtakingly hot, in Quatre's opinion, but he knew better than to share that with the irate dancer. Not right now.

Now it was time to perform. This was his opportunity. Trowa was looking at him, angry yes, but waiting to hear what he was about to say.

Quatre hoped he got things right for once. He remembered what Trowa's sister said, and figured that if he went at him like a client, he might get somewhere? "Two hundred bucks for an hour with you?"

"How DARE you proposition me you stalker-asshole! Asking me for an hour of my time after you walk in here like you own the place!" Trowa let him have it as loud as he could, not even caring that the other patrons were watching the exchange.

One of the bouncers piped up, "He kinda does own the place."

Ah crap! Quatre could have lynched the guy for saying that!

Trowa's body shook in suppressed rage."Yeah? Well. You don't own me, and you never will!"

Quatre tried to keep his face neutral and vaguely apologetic. Truth was, he had no flipping clue who owned this bar, and he had bullshitted that little spiel earlier. It got him the manager, didn't it? But it only pissed off Trowa more. Damn it to all seven hells! His plan had backfired in a major way.

The manager turned to Trowa and tried to calm him down, or at least keep him quiet. He touched his arms, and chest, and hips with familiar sorts of massaging caresses to try and sooth the performer and hummed into his ear... it seemed to work a little. Jealously, Quatre wondered if they were screwing. Was that why Trowa had turned him down so brutally? He was fucking his pimp?!

Trowa shoved the manager's hands off him, though and turned to Quatre with a hissed, "No!"

He shouldn't have said anything. He should have kept his cool, but... seeing the other man touch Trowa like that? Feeling the burn of rejection again... He acted out of spite. "Three hundred."

"No!"

"Four hundred." Quatre bartered, getting a sick sort of thrill out of pissing off the man who had so coldly spurned his sincere attentions and then let that greasy pimp run his hands all over him! He wasn't Prince Charming. He had a good streak of spite in him and a temper that burned hot.

"Fuck you!" Trowa spat again, "Money won't get you everything, you egotistical prick! Go fuck your centerfold wife in the back of your million dollar car, Asshole!"

"I don't have a wife, and a car that expensive is ridiculously excessive, don't you think?" Quatre asked, pushing his hair out of his face and smirking cruelly. He did so enjoy having the upper hand. Trowa was intelligent, sure. But so was Quatre. This was payback after the mace stunt earlier. "Five hundred."

The manager was licking his lips and obviously hoping Trowa would capitulate soon. The pimp probably got 30%.

Trowa was visibly vibrating in anger now. He didn't even yell 'no' this time. The dancer just shot him the finger, but then his eyes began to flick around the room... Looking for an exit?

"He'll do it for a thousand," The Manager slid in, greed shining in his eyes.

"I'd rather QUIT!" Trowa spat, moving to untie his bar apron. He was shaking so hard that he couldn't seem to loosen the knot.

Getting even was fun, but Quatre could tell that he had pushed it to the limit now. Trowa wasn't playing his game. He was seriously angry, and obviously feeling cornered. Quatre had hoped that coming to Trowa as client was the way to go to get him alone. But Trowa was too pissed off to accept him, and the manager was only compounding the problem. This had passed the point of just getting the dancer riled up and Quatre could see that Trowa was feeling genuinely threatened.

If their roles had been reversed, Quatre would sure be wondering what some guy wanted with him if he was willing to pay that much for an hour. Being a stripper wasn't exactly a 'safe' job by any stretch of the imagination, and, Trowa's sister had made it clear that Trowa had been on the receiving end of 'crazies' before. He could understand Trowa's very real fear spiking his voice as he threatened to quit.

This had gone way too far! Quatre needed to put a stop to this if no one else would!

"No." Quatre growled. He pushed his hair out of his face and took a breath, "Fuck. No. I only came here to apologize! This is getting ridiculous!"

The Manager looked like he was about to say something, but Quatre turned to him and glared, "You aren't helping. Stay out of this, please." That shut him up with an almost audible snap of his jaw.

"Trowa? I'm sorry! I didn't mean to push you so far. I was just trying to flirt. It was all a miscommunication."

Trowa slowed in his movements, and shot Quatre a look that said 'do you think I'm an idiot?'

THANK GOD. Quatre finally was getting somewhere! Honesty, it seemed, was a good policy with the performer. It hadn't been part of the original plan, but Quatre was improvising as he went, and it was working a little.

He decided to continue. "I was just making a joke back at the party. Your sister told me what I'd said. I had no idea! It was just a stupid joke. A misunderstanding."

Trowa didn't seem pleased, but, he wasn't leaving, or throwing anything, or macing him. Quatre licked his lips, "And okay, maybe I was out of line inviting you to New York, but, you can't blame a guy for trying! You're gorgeous!" Quatre let his eyes flick up and down Trowa's body appreciatively. "Your dance left me.... Wanting more. A lot more. You're very sexy."

That last bit had been a gamble. Highest chance was that Trowa would kick his ass to the curb, but there was a small chance that he would be flattered. Quatre had caught on that Trowa had an ego that liked to be stroked. Perhaps a bit of conceit? If the man didn't have at least a little bit of a vain streak, how could he take his clothes off for cash the way he did? Playing to a personality flaw that he wasn't sure Trowa had was chancy, but he hoped it would work. He had to risk a little to win the war, right?

Trowa crossed his arms over his chest and flicked out his hip a little. He still looked irate, but he didn't look frightened anymore. "I don't do freebies."

Quatre could have CHEERED. It worked! Two points for Quatre on calling out the performer's vanity! Suddenly, the plan was back in working order.

He had an opening. Now, he just had to work it right. "I can tell that now. I was willing to pay whatever you charge. But, look, if you want me to leave. I'll go. I came to apologize and now I have."

Quatre almost had him. He knew he did. But he had to close the deal. He wasn't a shark in the boardroom for nothing! Quatre turned to the side and gave a little sigh of regret as he moved towards the door, "It was very nice meeting you, Trowa."

"Wait."

A grin just about broke his whole act, but he managed to keep it in. Three points. The goal of Trowa in his bed didn't look too far away now. He turned to Trowa and blinked innocently. "Yeah?"

Trowa glared, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked like he wasn't sure if he was being played like a fiddle, or if Quatre was sincere. Unfortunately, it was a bit of both. "...I'll give you a lap dance. Twenty minutes. Fifty bucks. Take it or leave it."

Quatre DID smile then. Finally he was getting somewhere!

But something was still bothering him. Quatre flicked his eyes towards the bar where the prices were posted. He crossed his arms and cocked a hip, mirroring Trowa's haughty stance. "That's more expensive than the price posted." He added. Upping the price seemed unlike what Quatre thought he knew about the tall man. Either something else was going on, or he didn't know Trowa as well as he thought he did.

Trowa snorted, lifting a brow in challenge, "No shit. But that's what I'll lose in tips for not working the bar while I give you a dance." 'Prick' seemed to be tagged to the end of that without being said. That didn't mean Quatre didn't get the hint. Trowa was relenting, but he wasn't pleased about it. But Trowa hadn't been just upping the price because of Quatre's money. It relieved that fear, at least. Trowa's lack of greed was one of the features that most appealed to Quatre. He would take whatever Trowa was willing to give.

A lap dance was better than nothing, right? Quatre was so hungry for the man that he figured anyone watching them could see just how hard he was just from being in the same room as Trowa! It was embarrassing! Maybe the dance would at least get him some relief? And while his Master plan of conquest involved a little more than just Trowa rubbing on his lap, he would take what he was given right about now.

"Done. Fifty bucks." Quatre took out his wallet and pulled out a shiny platinum card.

Trowa took the card with a flick of his wrist and sashayed over to the bar. He rung that up and swiped the card, then handed it back to Quatre. "Fine. I'll be with you in two hours," he said tightly. With that he moved back behind the bar, popped the top off a Corona, and took a long swig.

...two hours?

Fuck!

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AN: Thanks for reading! Give me a review and tell me what you liked? I love reviews! Even just say 'I was here'! Push that button, you know you want to...


	3. Chapter 3

**Philosophers and Conquerors 3/3**

By: _Dentelle_noir_

**Summary:** Stripping wasn't exactly a 'safe' job by any stretch of the imagination, but Trowa kept himself safe and stuck to the rules. Until a blonde CEO decided to push his boundaries. 3x4. Rated: NC-17 for very mature subject matter and language.  
Chapter 3 of 3.

Written as a bribe for Chapter 20 of Candlelight. Since it's been posted on , I will post my last chapter for her! Here you go Osco!

Thank you also to **writtenidealist** for her beta work and editing on this. She really helped polish this fic. I've learned so much! And to **f0r3v3ryw0rd** for doing an interactive read-through of the fic and helping me work out what I didn't like about the second chapter! Thanks so much both of you!

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**Chapter Three**

Trowa would let the blonde CEO sit and rot for all he cared. He worked the bar and drank his beer while he settled down. And he was damn well charging that beer to Quatre's account, too! The manager was pissed at him for turning down the money to turn a trick for the blonde, but Trowa knew he'd get over it. What was fair for one was fair for all, and if he charged one hundred bucks to anyone, it was one hundred bucks to everyone. He wasn't going to change his mind and charge Quatre a thousand.

Even if he DID want to make Quatre pay for putting him on the spot like that.

So he had. A guy like Quatre? Rich and influential? Money was no object to him. The only thing more important than cash to a guy like him was time.

His parting shot was agreeing to the dance, and then letting him wait it out. Two hours was right at the end of his shift at the bar. The blonde could damn well wait until Trowa was ready to dance for him; he refused to be hurried just because the CEO flashed some cash and threw around his last name.

And the more he thought about the whole situation, the more he knew he'd been played like a fucking violin! The blonde knew exactly what he had been doing, and he kept on weaving his little web of words until Trowa fell right into it and agreed to give him a lap dance.

Then, the manager went and complimented the jack-ass a private room! Usually a private lap dance was triple the price, but not for Quatre. He was too good to get a dance out in the bar like anyone else. That pissed Trowa off to no end. Quatre wasn't even paying for the private dance! No one should be getting special treatment just because they had money.

But no more. Trowa was onto him now. No one manipulated Trowa Barton and got away with it! And all he had agreed to was a dance. And everyone knew that a lap dance had rules. No touching. And the dance ended when the dancer wanted it to. Everything was up to him. He didn't have to give that CEO with a King complex jack-all. And he didn't plan to.

Quatre wanted to play games with him? Well, he'd just play him back.

And that started by peeking through the one-way glass in the backrooms that looked into the private rooms. It was there so the bouncers could keep eyes on things as they walked by every little while. Trowa took a moment to look in and watch his newest client squirm.

Trowa usually liked meeting new people. He liked to dance, and he was known around the club for always giving a little extra bang for someone's buck. He liked regular sorts of people. And he liked to be treated well. If he was good to his clients, they were good to him, usually. But Quatre?

Trowa was already pissed before he even walked in. Watching the blonde sitting there, in his complimentary room, an empty martini glass beside him and the fancy sound system all set up for the dance, it just pissed the dancer off. Didn't a guy like Quatre have enough already?! Why did everyone have to bend over backwards for people like him?!

Well, everyone except Trowa that was. Trowa made that CEO wait good and long for a piece of him, and he was glad to see that Blondie didn't look too happy about it.

Quatre sat in the chair with false-composure and tried not to drum his nails on the brown leather arms. He looked really worked up; it was clear that he was rock hard inside those Armani pants. And he'd obviously been tugging at the Italian silk tie for a while; It was off kilter. He wasn't reading the magazines lying around, but Trowa wasn't shocked. They were all skin-mags anyway filled with centerfold chicks and the beautiful people who would do anything for more money and fame. But the blonde CEO wasn't actually looking at them at all. And he had waited. For TWO hours. He must have really wanted a piece of Trowa to wait that long. He was either really stuck on him, or really stubborn.

Trowa figured it was a bit of both.

With that in mind, Trowa got ready for his dance. He mussed his hair and freshened his eye liner. Trowa didn't see a reason to change his clothes; He had no intention of giving the guy any relief. The dancer was just going to tease him until the 20 minutes they agreed upon were up and then he wouldn't owe that manipulative prick a damn thing.

That Rich-Bitch ought to know better than to piss off the dancer he wanted in his lap if the guy wanted anything but air for the dance. Idiot.

Trowa walked into the room with a swagger to his step and a CD twirled on his finger. He tossed it into the player that was conveniently patched into the room's sound system and his favourite pulsing dance songs began. Usually Trowa liked to make a little small talk before he began to get up-close and personal, but he didn't think he needed that get-to-know-you time with Quatre. He already knew the guy was a jackass.

Trowa straddled the chair and began rocking his hips to the song. He looked above Quatre's head with a bored air and leaned back to roll his body and work his belt off. He was FEET away from the blonde jack-ass and had no intention of giving Quatre anything. He would have ended the dance before it began if he didn't know that his manager would have an aneurysm about it if he found out that Trowa hadn't shown. Slowly, Trowa got closer so that he could at least go through the motions of a lap dance properly. He got on Quatre's chair and began to tease his shirt up a little to the sound of the music.

"Thank you for doing me the honour of this dance," Quatre said politely. His voice was strained a little, his eyes glued to Trowa's slowly rolling hips, and he couldn't seem to stop licking his lips, but he was still trying to charm. Always working that rapier tongue. That sort of polite thing usually flattered Trowa and would almost always ensure his client got a little more for his time, but not with Quatre. No way. No how.

"Do you ever stop talking?" Trowa retorted, yanking the belt off with a SNAP behind the chair that made the blonde jump—and accidentally grind his crotch against Trowa's leg. Trowa was knelt on the chair, straddling Quatre's hips, touching Quatre's stomach with his pelvis and hovering his fully-clad ass over Quatre's fully clothed cock. That didn't mean that he would allow him to grind against him. Trowa grabbed his shoulder and pushed him down, "WHOA buddy, I don't care who you are. No touching."

Quatre pinned himself down to the chair, a flush as red as a tomato coming over his face at that, "I didn't mean..." He stammered just a second before he regained his composure and that fire in his eyes was back, "I was startled! You can't blame me for that."

Trowa felt himself smirk cruelly. He had the guy off-guard now. And he didn't think he'd ever seen anyone blush so RED. Take that, prick. Point for Trowa. "I'll let it go this time. But don't break rules again, or not even your Rolex will save your ass from being kicked out of this club." Trowa rolled his hips again and began to slide his hand up against his own stomach. He tugged the shirt up a little more to give the blonde a little peek at his muscled abs and rolling bellybutton.

Quatre's eyes were glued to the dancer's body, and he nodded to Trowa's rule and let the man roll and gyrate to the music over his hips. There was no grinding, though. Trowa wasn't being that nice to him yet. He was still angry. Quatre tried to remember that this was only one step of his plan. He hadn't lost yet. Trowa was being cold to him right now, but Quatre had not yet begun to fight!

Trowa pulled over the table that was nearby so it was directly behind him. He straddled the chair arms above Quatre's hips again, facing the blonde, and put his elbows on the table and leant back to show off how much he could arch. Then he began long body rolls to the music, lifting his hips high so they were right in the blonde's face (the way he had his eyes glued, it wasn't hard). But he wasn't giving him even a whisper of contact where he knew the blonde wanted it.

Trowa rolled and flicked his hips a little more as he pulled his shirt off higher and unbuttoned the top fasting of his pants, then he turned over with speed and flexibility of a performer. He switched positions so that he faced the wall now, his forearms on the table and his ass just a foot away from Quatre's chest. He figured a King like him would enjoy seeing Trowa bowed for him. He could look all he wanted. Think about the ass he was never gonna get to fuck. He was waiting for the blonde to do something to piss him off. All he needed was a reason to end the dance. He hoped the blonde grabbed his ass or something just to justify kicking him to the curb.

But he didn't get to. Quatre was a perfect gentleman. He kept his hands out of the way and just let Trowa roll and dance and flick his hips. He didn't ask him for anything, and didn't make any sort of lewd comments.

The dancer slid down the chair and then dipped low to Quatre's knees. The rules were that Trowa could touch, but Quatre couldn't touch him. He could do what he wanted now. He snapped Quatre's legs open and slid in between as if he were going for a blow job.

Quatre stifled a moan and tried his damndest not to react too much. He knew enjoying the show was part of this, but he didn't think embarrassing himself in his pants was exactly up to etiquette. And really, he would never let the dancer get that much over on him. He had more he wanted from him. Trowa wasn't like any dancer he had ever met, and he had set his sights on having him in his bed. He wanted Trowa so badly that he was willing to put up with some frustration in order to have more later. But the motions and movements the beautiful dancer was making right now were just adding fuel to the fire. He was so hungry for the dancer that he was ready to grab onto his hips and just BEG for him! But that wouldn't do. Not at all.

Quatre gulped and tried to will himself to cool down; But it wasn't easy.

Trowa grinned when he saw that reaction, and he slid himself up through the blonde's legs. God, he had gorgeous legs. And his face looked pretty hot, all turned on and just about to moan. Trowa wanted to see a little more, so he nudged the blonde's inner thighs with his hips and sides as he slid up through those legs. He made the blonde gasp out loud. Another point. It was so sexy, watching Quatre trying to keep in control but losing it. Trowa could see that the blonde sure liked Trowa between his legs. As he nudged and rolled against Quatre's inner thighs, instead of moving to grab Trowa, or thrusting up against him like most guys did, the blonde let out a needy little moan and spread his legs a little more, as if inviting him in between. Just the thought of that began to make Trowa start to get hungry.

Trowa was often looked at, lusted for, but usually men liked looking at his ass. He was the performer. The eye candy. Their bitch. They didn't really like knowing that Trowa wanted THEM bent over. Seeing that Quatre was a bottom was...fucking hot. But he wasn't about to let Quatre know that he was starting to enjoy the dance a little.

"I can see why you make a great dancer. You're very flexible." Quatre's voice hummed softly, catching Trowa's attention. His voice was strained, breathy, and deep. But he was trying to sound in control, when it was so clear to Trowa that Quatre wasn't in control anymore at all. Not since the moment Trowa had walked through that door.

"Hm." Trowa responded just enough to say he was listening, but he continued to shift and arch, rolling his stomach between those pretty little legs. He wanted to grind and make Quatre spread those legs more. He wanted to see Quatre with his head thrown back and his arms around Trowa's neck, begging for it harder. Trowa's mind was going into the gutter now, and he wanted in between Quatre's legs in the worst way. He wanted to fuck that gorgeous little blonde CEO philosopher king into oblivion and back again.

But the dance wasn't about what Trowa wanted. He knew that. Nothing was about what Trowa wanted in a place like this.

Removing temptation was needed right now. Trowa needed to give they guy what he paid for and that was it. He moved away from between those gorgeous legs and turned, looking at the wall instead of Quatre. He mounted the chair again and put his elbows to the table and his knees on the arms of the chair, doggy-style, showing Quatre his ass and rolling and grinding as if they were fucking. He even made that little moan sound; It made most patrons go nuts.

"And I can see why you're a great bouncer. You're very intimidating... Not just because you're strong, and you're heartbreaking beautiful, but because you are sharply intelligent." Quatre's voice was soft, husky, and it didn't have that frantic edge of hunger like before, or that sarcastic I'm-better-than-you air. "You put CEOs to shame. I bet you'd make any professor drool to have you in a class."

Trowa flicked his eyes over his shoulder to look at Quatre and lifted a brow, "I'm not in school..."

Quatre smiled tightly (he seemed stressed. The aching cock in his lap probably wasn't helping) but he spoke anyway, "You should be. You're very intelligent. And beautiful."

Trowa was... flattered. He heard 'You're hot' enough times, or such catchy drunk-phrases like 'You've got more leg than a bucket of chicken,' but he didn't really tire of hearing that he was beautiful. And it wasn't often that someone called him intelligent: especially not someone as intelligent as Quatre himself. Trowa smiled gently, feeling the chip on his shoulder lessen just a little.

The blonde didn't follow up with anything to piss him off, and Trowa began to really get into his music. He liked his songs, and he liked to dance. He slid his legs off the arms of the chair with a slow sort of slide that made the blonde gasp quietly. He straddled his lap properly now, brushing the man's lap with his thighs and crotch every so often as he moved, rolled, and flicked his hips to the music.

He was rewarded with a stifled sort of moan from the blonde. The Philosopher King was losing control. Trowa could hear it in his voice, and feel it in his body.

He was slumped back against the chair now. Whatever plan he had was gone. All he could focus on was the feeling of Trowa's body whispering across his thigh and brushing his lap in ways that made Quatre's brain fry. "You're so beautiful, Trowa." Quatre moaned again with that husky, hungry sort of purr.

It sent a little shudder up Trowa's spine. He sounded really hot like that.... Really, really hot actually. Trowa wanted to hear it some more, so he began slow sort of circles with his hips that gave a little more contact with the blonde's cock. He figured Quatre would like that. And really, Trowa kinda liked that too. It was easier on his muscles than some other dances, and it gave Trowa's body a little friction while he was at it. Trowa's body was still aroused from dancing between those gorgeous legs. If Quatre wasn't rich? Trowa would do him. Oh yeah. If Trowa wasn't a stripper and Quatre wasn't a client, Trowa would have loved to tap that pretty little ass of his. All night long. Make Quatre scream for more. Beg for it harder. Harder and harder and HARDER. Trowa could imagine just how good it would be to see Quatre's pretty little face under him, his nails digging into the back of his neck. Oh GOD his mind was quickly falling into hot-fantasy territory, and that was not a good place to be when he was supposed to be working!

Usually Trowa didn't break the rules, but, just this once... He wanted to hear it so bad! "You can moan if you want... No one's gonna hear you but me," he offered with a little moan of his own. He could admit it. He loved to hear the mighty rich-bitches moaning for him like a whore. It made him hot to hear it. And right now he was already so hot already, a little more couldn't hurt.

Trowa grinded and flicked his hips against the blonde's thigh again, knowing his ass was grinding right against the man's cock now, and giving him a lot more contact than he was really supposed to be giving for the price Quatre paid. But he didn't care. It felt so good: For both of them! So the-hell WHAT if he was breaking a few rules.

He was rewarded with a deep, guttural moan from the CEO that sent thrills up Trowa's spine and made him grind harder. Then, he felt the man's hands grab onto Trowa's thighs unconsciously and the pretty little blonde was rolling up into Trowa's hips.

He should have stopped him; He should have moved his hands at least! But he didn't.

He kept moving against the blonde, arching his back and then kneeling upright to roll his shirt higher and higher. He liked giving Quatre a little show, and it was hot to undress for someone specific. While he was mad that Quatre was given the private room for free, he wasn't mad about it right now. He knew no one was watching them, and no one was watching him bring Quatre to the edge. He brought the shirt up and over his head, and then he tossed it to the side of the room.

Quatre gave another little groan of appreciation and let his eyes roam over the dancer's body. His hands slowly caressed his thighs where they stayed unobtrusively on the dancer's jeans. Trowa wasn't pushing him off.

Quatre knew he'd managed to get back on Trowa's good side when he started to feel Trowa's body giving him what he wanted. Staying still was the hardest thing he ever had to do, but he managed it. He didn't think Trowa would appreciate him acting like a boorish pig for his dance; thrusting and grinding and begging like he wanted to was not classy. And Trowa seemed to really like classy.

The more Quatre behaved, the more Trowa seemed to give him. He kept turning up the heat of his dance until the gorgeous man was grinding against Quatre's lap deep and hard while Trowa's hands slipped between their bodies and ran against the bulge in his pants as if curious how much Quatre was enjoying this. From Trowa's angle, staring at the wall with his back to Quatre, the dancer couldn't really tell except for the moans he was ripping from Quatre's throat.

Quatre let out a whimper at that touch, the pressure sending his brain into shock and his body rolling just a little into the touch. But the dancer didn't move away. He gave him a little more pressure and let out a little moan of his own. It all became clear to Quatre: Trowa was enjoying this. He liked his job. Trowa really was a natural performer. He craved the spotlight, but he played behind masks and walls to protect him from the outside. Quatre thought that he understood the performer a little, now that he'd spoken to him and his sister. And the more time he spent with the complicated performer, the more pieces began to fall into the puzzle.

There was just one thing that didn't sit right with him. Why was he so against Quatre offering to buy him things? Or trips? "Trowa... Do you really not like nice things?"

Trowa's movements slowed, and he flicked his eyes over his shoulder. He was scowling a little. "I don't need money to be happy. I'm a natural gypsy. I live cheaply. I'm not like you-"

But Quatre cut him off before Trowa worked himself up to anger. "I didn't say 'expensive' things. I said 'nice' things. There's a difference." Quatre's voice was soft now, low and purring. The manager had known the trick to dealing with Trowa, and now Quatre was using it to his advantage. A little bit of touch and some whispered words: Flirting.

It worked. Trowa calmed down and he continued to rub and slide over Quatre's lap... He was listening.

Quatre licked his lips and continued. He ran his hands down Trowa's legs a little, "Like... real leather pants instead of that fake plastic stuff. Or shirts made out of cotton instead of polyester. The real Count Chocula cereal and not Value Brand Chocolate-Bits. Sheets of Egyptian cotton, and wine from France. I thought you would be a man of taste. Of quality. It's not about expense. Do you know what I mean?"

Trowa did. He didn't like to admit it, but... He knew exactly what Quatre was talking about, and he knew that he had a taste for that sort of thing. He made due, though! He didn't need that sort of thing, and he didn't like Quatre throwing his vices in his face! Before he could feel affronted though, Quatre continued talking to him. His hands kept petting his thighs with that soft, sexy grip and it was hard for Trowa to stay mad when his body was being given so much attention.

"It's not shameful," Quatre's voice kept that sexy purring lilt even as the CEO's body began to rock up to meet Trowa's rolling hips in the dance, "You have high standards. There's nothing wrong with that."

Quatre could feel his breath getting more shallow. His body was enjoying this dance. He wanted release. Badly. And Trowa seemed willing to give it to him now. Quatre was pretty sure their twenty minutes were nearly, or already, up. But he just kept rolling against him and talking. His words seemed to keep Trowa interested; seemed to keep the man rocking against him deep and hard...

Quatre could tell that Trowa was the kind of man who would enjoy being pampered, or being taken care of. As long as he never felt tied down. That was the key. If Quatre could find a way to spoil him without making Trowa feel trapped he might be able to get this sort of treatment more often. Maybe even more that just a lap dance, too. He didn't just want Trowa for one night. He wanted him all the time. He wanted to come home and see Trowa lying naked in bed, waiting for him. He wanted Trowa sitting in the seat beside him on his private jet, he wanted Trowa sipping martini's with him in his house's banquet hall and he wanted to see Trowa in Armani and skin-tight Guess jeans (and see how nice Trowa would treat him for buying him something like that).

The dance was getting really hot now. Trowa wasn't mad anymore, and he was gripping the sides of the chair so he could use all his muscles to blow Quatre's mind. And Quatre knew he really was going to blow soon. His whole body was shaking now, begging for the release that he'd been denied ALL night. He could barely string together a thought. The need was overwhelming!

Thankfully, Quatre had prepared for this while he was stuck waiting for two hours. He had a business card in his front jacket pocket and it already had his personal cell written on the back-- And a nice one hundred dollar tip waiting. He had to let go of Trowa's thigh to retrieve it. The dancer was leaning back against him now and rocking up and down on Quatre's hips, mimicking riding him hard. Trowa had serious strength in his body; he would be amazing in bed. And Quatre was desperately aroused by now. He was going to cum. In moments.

He took the card in his hand with the hundred wrapped around it, and took the chance to slide it down far into Trowa's front pants pocket.

Holy HELL!

Quatre nearly came right then. He figured that dancers got hot during work, but he could feel Trowa through the pocket of his jeans. He was rock hard, and if Quatre extended his fingers enough to brush the edge of the dancer's considerable bulge, he could feet a slick wetness of pre-cum wetting through the material. This was far more than mildly aroused. Trowa was close to cumming himself!

Quatre managed to hold himself back a few more minutes. He ran his finger tips over the length hidden in the performer's pants and listened for the reaction.

Far from kicking the blonde out for that blatant breaking of rules, Trowa let out a gasp and rocked his hips right against Quatre's with intensity. The dancer seemed stuck between Quatre's fingers and his hips, and Trowa was enjoying every second! If he thrust up, he got more from that hand, and if he thrust back, Quatre's length was poking into his hips and making the CEO gasp. The dancer was panting now, giving Quatre all the sugar he could handle and taking all the enjoyment that he was being given. The moan that ripped out of the dancer's throat sounded suspiciously like 'more!' but he covered it up well, just continuing to move and thrust and grind against Quatre.

That was the missing piece of the puzzle. It finally clicked into place and Quatre let out a moan. Trowa loved sex. He loved experiences. And art, and dance, and learning. He loved nice things, and quality, but most of all he loved sensations. He turned down men with money, because money usually meant no attention. Quatre knew how true that was. Most of his CEO friends bought presents instead of visiting their lovers, and kept them happy that way. Trowa wasn't the type to live like that.

But neither was Quatre.

Trowa was being so cold to him because he thought Quatre would take what he wanted, then leave Trowa hanging. Trowa thought that Quatre only cared about himself. There was only one way to prove him wrong.

In Trowa's words, "What was fair for one was fair for the other," and if Quatre wanted to get off, he was gonna bring Trowa with him.

Quatre palmed Trowa's length and stroked as best as he could within the confines of the tight jeans. The dancer gasped and arched back against Quatre almost submissively. The aggressive, moody, prickly Trowa was practically BEGGING him, rolling up and down Quatre's body like a Tom Cat and thrusting his hips against Quatre's wandering hand. The invitation was too delicious. Quatre pulled his hand out of the dancer's pocket and went for the zipper of Trowa's jeans. Trowa had already popped the button and lowered them a little during his dance; it was laughably easy to get his hand into Trowa's pants to free his cock and give it a few good strokes.

That was all it took to make Trowa turn wild. The dancer arched forward, giving himself better leverage against Quatre's hand and rocked back and forth so he was thrusting but still moving against Quatre to get him off. A hungry, growling sort of moan ripped from the gorgeous man's throat as he pistoned between Quatre's hips and his hand. Quatre had almost forgotten about himself in the thrill of making the dancer moan, but the need was coming back with a vengeance now. Quatre thrust up against the friction of the dancer's ass one more time.

That was all it took. He was totally undone. Quatre let out a wailing sort of moan as he slammed against the friction and lost control, making a mess of himself in his pants. He gripped the dancer's cock harder as the pleasure washed over him and Quatre rode it out, gasping in bliss.

Trowa was panting hard now, and thrusting into the hand furiously, almost as if he expected Quatre to stop because he had cum now. But Quatre wouldn't do that. He wasn't the kind of man Trowa through him to be. He could see it all right now. He could see what Trowa expected...

Quatre leant forward and pressed a kiss between Trowa's shoulder blades and then stepped up his ministrations, "Let me make you feel good. I won't stop until you're finished. I can take care of you. Give you what you need. Everything you need." He whispered. And He meant it. Every word. He understood what Trowa really needed now, and he was trying to give it. Trowa needed someone watching out for him, someone to care about what he was doing and why, he needed someone in his life to challenge him, but love him anyway. Someone to keep things interesting. Someone who would make sure he always got off in bed. Trowa needed a lover. He needed someone who paid attention to HIM, not just themselves.

He fisted his cock and pumped. "I want you in my bed. And I want you between my legs. And I want to keep you in my bed for as long as you'll have me. And I PROMISE you, if you choose to have me as your lover, I'll make sure that I'll always leave you satisfied." Quatre growled, low and hot.

Trowa let out a ragged cry and bucked against his hand, his whole body tightening... then he released with a growl like a wild thing! Trowa's hips pistoned forward in a frantic thrust as his body gave over to orgasm; his seed spilling out and coating Quatre's hand as Trowa shook and shivered from the intensity of it. If Quatre could have cum again, he would have just seeing Trowa like that. He was so sexy; Quatre couldn't help but want him even more.

Finally, the dancer calmed, coming down from the high of orgasm slowly. He rocked on his knees, tipping backwards to lay the back of his head on Quatre's shoulder, panting, giving Quatre a gorgeous view of the dancer's sculpted chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.

Quatre pressed a soft, affectionate kiss to Trowa's neck, and then pressed gentle kisses all the way down his shoulder as he retracted his hand and discretely used the Kleenex provided in the private rooms for just such emergencies to clean up Trowa. He couldn't stop the grin from tugging at his face. He had just made the irate, prickly dancer cum. The man might call him a philosopher-king, but right about now? He felt more like the conquering hero.

Trowa didn't say anything other than a mumbled 'Thanks' when Quatre cleaned him up. The dancer was smiling just a little out of the corner of his lips in a way that made Quatre's heart beat faster and his mind work to memorize every detail of the sight. After a few moments, though, Trowa slowly sat up and slid off the chair.

Quatre took a moment to clean himself up, checking Trowa to make sure he hadn't ruined the man's pants or anything. But Trowa looked fine; Sexy as always, and even more gorgeous with that just-fucked glow and a content smile on his face (even though Quatre had never gotten the particular pleasure of fucking him yet).

It was just Quatre who had embarrassed himself in his pants. The dancer bent down swiftly to grab his shirt and he pulled it over his body, taking the time to roll it down real slow... In Quatre's opinion, watching Trowa put it back on like that was almost as sexy as watching Trowa take it off.

Trowa turned then, having taken a minute to compose himself, and he sashayed over to the blonde. He straddled the end of Quatre's lap for lack of anywhere else to sit, and faced him.

Digging into his pocket, Trowa pulled out the one hundred dollar bill and the card. Separating them, he tucked the cash back into his pants, and then Trowa made it a point of looking at the card. After a second, the dancer leaned forward and flicked the card back at Quatre with a mischievous smile. He grinned playfully, then tweaked the blonde's nipple, making Quatre gasp instead of respond to having the card tossed back at him.

Trowa stood after that, sparing Quatre an over-the shoulder look. He walked with a flick of his hips towards the door. "Don't come back here, Quatre," He said clearly; his voice had no-nonsense.

Quatre looked stunned at that development. He hadn't expected his card to be given back to him, and he certainly didn't expect to be told to leave! He thought he had figured the dancer out!

Apparently not! He was totally thrown off-kilter by that response! "T-Trowa.... I-"

That was when Trowa turned around, a slow sort of smile on his face still and something resembling... affection? in his eyes.

"I don't date clients." Trowa said softly, "So if you're going to offer me a ride home tonight, you'd better not be a client. I leave in half an hour. And don't forget what you promised me."

And then he was gone; he had ghosted out the door as if he had never been there at all.

Quatre sat, blinking, just for a moment. He looked from the empty room, to the card laying, denied, in his lap. But slowly, he felt himself smiling as he rewound the exit in his head.

Quatre had to applaud. If he wasn't so turned on again, he would have. He had never seen a better exit even on stage. And he had never felt like he had been bested quite as thoroughly as Trowa had just bested him. This game went to Trowa, hands down and inequitably.

And the worst part was that Quatre had fallen for it; And him.

The CEO licked his lips and pulled out his cell phone, calling up a driver to get him and Trowa outside the club in half an hour. He was looking fulfilling his promise already: He was going to make sure that Trowa was satisfied. But Quatre knew for a fact that it was going to take a long time to discover everything there was to discover about the dancer; Trowa knew how to use the cardinal rule of a performer:

"Always leave them wanting more."

* * *

End.

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**AN:** Thanks for reading! I worked a lot on this fic, and I love the end-result! please let me know what you liked, what you didn't!Please review! Even if it's just 'I was here!"


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